Forging Misery
by Grimm Dolly
Summary: When someone you love is playing with fire, is it taboo to seek your solace in the embers? - Guess the pairing, and you get a cookie! :D


"I want to forget about everything with you tonight," he murmured. "Make me forget about everything. Make me forget about her... him... this war... the fact that I'm even a mutant."

"I'll make you forget your own name, if that's what you want," she promised in return. He wasn't the only one suffering - her pain was just as bad, and together... It was surpassed only by the solace they found in one another. How long had this been going on?

"You always do. I'm sorry for this..." His consciousness seemed to be kicking in, and his brows furrowed. This happened once in a while, though less and less frequently. "I'm taking advantage of you."

"You can't," she protested, pretty mouth turning into a frown. "You can't take advantage of someone like me. You know what I could do if I wanted to."

And that seemed to seal the deal. His smile returned and so did hers. Her head found home on his shoulder again, arms wrapped around his waist as if he would save her from drowning in her sorrow. His fingers were in her hair, reminding her he was solid, and he was drowning too, but at least they were drowning together in the same ocean of misery.

_Their_ laughter haunted them, even here in the vast, silent library. Leather and old books could never adequately muffle the sound. Husky brogue against chimes. Dragon's guffaw and church bells. How obnoxious could a sound get? How invading and pervading and perverse? And they'd had to listen to it all night, staring one another down from across the room. If only they could have closed the distance then, the damage may not have been done.

"You deserve better," they both whispered in unison, his lips buried in her hair, hers against his shoulder.

"You deserve to have her acknowledge your love," she said.

"You deserve to be treated like the _woman_ you are," he added, emphasis on her age-appropriate gender. It almost made her laugh.

"So why do we stay?"

"Because we're in love." He used to sound so happy when he said that, as if his love was the most beautiful thing in the world and nothing would ruin it. Now, his voice was hollow, and she began to wonder if he ever wished he had loved at all.

"Why couldn't we be in love with each other?" She was pouting, almost, but it went unnoticed and unheeded. A waif of a chuckle made his chest shake, unsettling her hair lightly.

"Love doesn't work that way, honey."

And the silence reigned again, leaving both of them in the dark with their ghosts, thinking much too hard and much too long about things that drove their hearts to break. When it was broken, it was by her, the soft sound of her sobs giving weight to her pain.

"You're much too beautiful to waste your tears on _him_," he seethed, using one hand to tilt her face up, the other to wipe away the bitter stains on her cheeks. Those cheeks were then cupped, and she was forced to look at her own reflection. "You deserve better," he reiterated, and she almost believed him.

"Speak for yourself," she whispered, brushing away a droplet that clung to his cheek like a kiss. Once more, she hiccupped a breath and found home upon his body. He was her life raft, and she kept him afloat. They didn't understand it. But they didn't want to. To look too far into this would only mean uncovering things they weren't ready to face.

"It's getting late," he finally said. She whimpered, as if his next words would sting her physically. He only sighed.

"The alarm clock is still in here," she pleaded, her voice one note below frantic, begging. "We'll be up before anyone knows we're missing! Just please don't make me..."

She had to walk by _his_ room every night to get to hers, and it killed her, wondering if _they_ were in there... _**together**_… or if... Even now, it weighed heavily on her, and a deep breath soaked into her lungs like poison.

"Shhh," he consoled, fingers again playing with the soft strands of her brown hair. "We'll stay right here. I'll be right here," he promised, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch. He used it to cover them both, two caterpillars stuck in one cocoon - night after night, waiting for their wings to emerge.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She relaxed, then. Her body softened atop his, and her hand curled into a small fist on his chest. She used this time to dwell on her companion. He was her solace, her savior. He loved classical music. His selections were always old, muted and melancholy. The songs of the passionate repressed - of those who scream, but scream silently. Like the last flakes of snow that melt and leave nothing behind but their tears...

"We need to talk tomorrow," she said. "About this. About us."

He nodded, knowing it was true, but knowing also that they never would. They always promised, but never did, both to scared of the repercussions of what their conversation might uncover. So much easier to stay like this, hiding in the dark from everyone else, putting on their masks during the day to paint the perfect pictures. They were so good at it, this existence... But their skin was wearing ever so thin

So, he buried his nose in her hair to pray, as he often did. But how should he pray? Are tears prayers? Are his screams prayers, or groans or sighs or curses? Could his trembling hands be lifted, or clenched fists, or the cold sweat that trickled down his back, or the cramps that knotted his stomach? Would his prayers be accepted?

The real prayers, he decided... The real prayers rooted in the muck and the mud and rock of his life, those made the difference. Not the pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged bouquet of words. Not the lies. He prayed for acceptance for the way he was now - this messed up mixture of glory and grime. She was his answer. She was his acceptance. She made everything seem alright...

But as the silence became too much to bear, and he could not bring himself to think further on his prayers (for they would only lead him to impossible solutions), he slid his face to one side, burying himself in her sweetly scented, tangled strands as it if was salvation, and sang the only thing that would lull them both to sleep. The one thing that would make them dream of each other, and not the strained hours to follow after dawn peeked over the trees...

"Let me love you one more time - feel your heart beat close to mine..."


End file.
